


Ghost of mine

by Casimir_Rovan



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Poor Aaravos, Power Dynamics, Slow Burn, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:21:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23133070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Casimir_Rovan/pseuds/Casimir_Rovan
Summary: Aaravos had lost everything.He was left alone in his mirror prison to grief and regret and to wait for what felt like an eternity ... until fate finally gave him something back. He always firmly believed that the people we love would never leave us for good and sometimes they would even find their way back to us and as the world opened their hands, he knew he had to be right about this one.Maybe that was his chance to also regain his freedom and the chance to finally fulfil his destiny.
Relationships: Aaravos & Viren (The Dragon Prince), Aaravos & Ziard (The Dragon Prince), Aaravos/Viren (The Dragon Prince), Aaravos/Ziard (The Dragon Prince)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 80





	1. Immortality

**I. Immortality**

The sun slowly rose on the horizon, stretching long golden arms towards the earth, while the stars and the darkness of the night vanished. Bright streaks of red, pink, orange and colours the people of Xadia didn’t have names for coloured the sky. Birds started to sing, waking the world with melodies only they could understand and a soft wind carried the smell of flowers and summer rain through the whispering grass and curved hills of the valley.

It was beautiful and thrilling at the same time.

At least in Aaravos’ opinion.

Even though he favoured the stillness of the night, he couldn’t deny that a sunrise was one of the most majestic spectacles the world could offer. He would be an idiot if he wouldn’t take the time to enjoy this and wondered how the rest of the world could still be asleep. There was one good thing about this though: He and his companion were alone.

They were sitting at the edge of a cliff, green grass beneath their feet and a warm summer breeze dancing around them and through the branches of the nearby trees. Watching the sunrise together felt intimate in a way Aaravos couldn’t describe, but wouldn’t trade for anything else.

They had talked all night long - from dusk till dawn - but by the time the sun rose, silence fell upon them. A new day began, a new day with all its possibilities, all its new chances and new dreams to catch. How could anyone show their respect better than with silence while the valley was bathed in all these wondrous colours?

In Aaravos opinion everything looked different in the morning sun. His companion’s brown eyes for an example looked almost like liquid gold in the warm sunlight while he gazed at the horizon in front of them. The sight warmed Aaravos’ heart. He could feel the energy of the sun sinking into his bones and a content sigh escaped his lips. If he could he would stop time and live in this moment forever.

But that was a power he sadly didn’t possess.

“A thousand years from now, the world will be different. Everything I know now will be gone – but not this, not the sunrise, not you. How is that like? Being immortal I mean, seeing thousands and thousands of sunrises. Is it scary?”

As Ziard broke the pleasant silence between them, Aaravos snapped out of his thoughts. He titled his head to the side and a curious smile was dancing on his lips. The elegant motion was almost bird-like, Ziard thought and one of the clever magpies that was sitting in one of the nearby trees agreed to that with a whistling sound.

“It’s not scary. It is what it is.”, he replied without breaking eye contact.

“That’s not really an answer.”

Ziard was always asking a lot of questions, but Aaravos wasn’t annoyed by it - quite the contrary to be exact. He loved the nature of humans: They were always asking, exploring and trying out new things driven by a wild and untamed ambition and a passion they shared with no other living breathing being. Humans were curious and adventurous, hardworking and eager and Ziard was no exception to that.

He was a proud and stubborn man, gentle in nature but strong willed at heart. Aaravos admired him for his strength and the love of his people, for the way he fought for his dreams and his wishes for the whole human race. They had a lot in common actually like a never-ending thirst for knowledge, but Aaravos decided that he loved their differences even more. What he treasured most though were their talks - conversations about life and destiny, about the beauty of the world and the possibilities for its future, about the tales of old and rusty towers, Lores and legends and long forgotten songs.

It was the fire in his eyes, eyes that were golden when the sun hit them in the right angle, that made Aaravos speechless for a moment.

“It’s hard to explain.”, he finally replied, “I was born like this. Immortality is a part of my soul, Ziard, it is engraved in my very being.”

Ziard raised a brow. “Still not a decent answer.” His friend was speaking in riddles again.

The moment he saw Ziard’s unamused expression, Aaravos couldn’t held back his laughter: “Ok let me rephrase it”, he exclaimed with an apologizing gesture, the smile never leaving his lips, “You were born with limited time on your hands, so I understand that the thought of immortality is either appealing to you or a gruesome thought, yet it is different for me. I can’t imagine it any other way..”

His companion nodded with an understanding hum, finally pleased: “Ah, I guess I get it. A bird doesn’t think about flying either - because why should it, it is born to fly - but I often think about how it’d be like to conquer the skies.”, his eyes wandered to the sky above them that was bright blue by now, “How do you think about mortality then?”

“I think it is fascinating. Things change, things grow, things evolve and become greater. Mortality is a chance, it is a thirst for more, a thirst passed down from one generation to the next.”, Ziard couldn’t help but notice that the stars on Aaravos’ skin brightened as he talked, “What do you think about immortality, Ziard? Apart from it being ‘scary’?”

The smile on his lips was teasing, but Ziard was unaffected by it. The magpie nearby snickered, like it was trying to give Aaravos’ thoughts a voice.

“When I think about immortality, I see all the possibilities that come with it, the things one could do with so much time. I would travel I guess and invent tons of things and read every book in the world, I would learn from past mistakes and try to find the means to give this world a brighter future.”

Aaravos raised a finger, it was his typical let-me-proof-my-point-gesture: “But you only think so because you were born as a mortal. Ask an immortal being and it would answer my previous question differently. It is sad, but the more time you have, the more you turn away from this world, the more absent you get in time because why should small things matter in all the ages and eons of time behind and still ahead of you? Your limited time gives you a purpose, my friend, gives you aims and dreams to catch, because if you don’t act fast enough, time will take the chance away from you.” He spoke with a passion, that made Ziard’s heart beat faster, “But the fascinating thing is, that you mortals have invented your very own way of immortality because of this. Because of your ambition you built buildings that will outlive you, you create dynasties for ages to come and stories that will carry your names forever.”

Slowly he leaned forward until his face was almost touching Ziard’s and even though the mage was used to Aaravos not knowing – or intently ignoring - his personal space by now, a cold shudder went down his spine.

“You, Ziard, made yourself immortal by all your hard work, by the city you have helped growing into what it is today and through me.”

The elf’s voice was hushed and quiet now, as if his words were too precious to be said aloud, as if the content was too delicate for the hard and brutal world around them.

Ziard didn’t dare to move. He was too enthralled by the elf in front of him. “How?”

Silence settled between them again. The air felt thick with a feeling Ziard couldn’t name.

“Ever since we first met you became a part of me and now, you’re with me in my every heartbeat. You will die one day and I will mourn you, but you will also live on in my thoughts, my memories and the way I view this world because of you. It’s another kind of immortality, one that is soft and innocent.”

Ziard couldn’t help but smile. He felt hopelessly lost in the best way. His beating heart was in the elf’s bare hands.

Aaravos continued to speak: “You showed me things I’ve never heard of before, taught me all the dances of your kind and showed me what it’s like to see the world we live in through your eyes. Your name is engraved in my soul.”, he turned his gaze towards the sky and the moment he moved Ziard finally regained the ability to breath, “So to answer your first question: That is immortality, that’s what it feels like. Your being permanently bond to something else, connected through invisible strings, unyielding and unbreakable.”

And just like that he laid down on the grass.

That was typical for Aaravos, saying heavy meaningful things like that and then acting like it’s nothing big, but Ziard _knows_. He always did. Words had so much meaning for the elf, which is maybe one of the reasons why he tended to pick them so carefully.

“You’re different than the immortal beings you’re describing.”

“I am? Why you think that?” Aaravos said, as if he didn’t know the answer to it.

“You care.” He laid down beside him, hands almost touching. “When others turn their eyes away, you act. You share your wisdom with us, your power and your kindness. You want to change things; you want to enjoy life and make a difference in the world, a world you treasure more than anyone else does. You may be immortal, but nonetheless you chose to live instead of merely existing.”

Aaravos didn’t reply immediately.

“I do. Thanks to your kind.”, he smiled and in the warm light it looked almost soft.

“Is it lonely?”, Ziard asked without missing a beat, “I mean immortality.”

The elf could feel the other’s breath on his lips.

He closed his eyes, thinking about the question and enjoying the sunlight on his star kissed skin: “Not as long as I have people like you by my side.”

“And before we’ve met? Before you’ve met humans?”

“I only knew what loneliness felt like after I’ve met you. I was never lonely before, just … searching I guess, yearning for something I couldn’t grasp, but not lonely.”, his hand brushed against Ziard’s,” I’ve learned it, because I learned what friendship felt like, the warmth of another's company ... love. Now I’ll never be as untethered again like I was a long time ago, but I wouldn’t trade this for anything. This mortal part of my soul makes me look at everything in wonder.”

“Like the sunrise?”

“Like you.”

“Now you’re making fun of me.”, Ziard laughed.

“I wouldn’t dare.”

*******

Aaravos could still remember the conversation they had on this fine morning. He was sure he could quote it word by word and if he would close his eyes now, he would see Zirad’s eyes and his smile. A smile that was kind and good even though the world was not. No, the world was cruel and unjust, ruled by ancient and arrogant beasts who tried to keep those on a leash who had a much stronger heart, a mind full of ideas and a soul yearning for everything that wasn’t given to them by nature.

Yet the moment he would open his eyes again, everything would vanish into nothing and his reality would crash down on him again: Ziard was dead and he would never see the rising sun again, or feel the grass beneath his feet or hear another voice in the void. He was alone – alone in this cold empty place, alone with his thoughts and regrets.

The sound of laughter, the feeling of joy and happiness was nothing but an echo now, taunting him and ghosting through his prison with other lingering memories of clear nights and soft skin and the smell of roses and the sensation of lips chasing each other, the colour of snow and the warmth of kind words and the taste of an apple plucked from a tree.

It was so crisp, so sweet and was now so gone.

Inside of his prison nothing felt real. Every connection to the world was severed and broken.

Aaravos felt like a ghost and it was driving him insane slowly but surely. He was a ghost trapped inside a place he couldn’t name, the Lord of his mirror prison, the broken shards of a once glowing star, the midnight star of poor troubled Elarion now lost and damned forever.

Ziard had once asked him if he was lonely and right now, he was. There was a loneliness in his bones too great for his marred soul, a pain he didn’t knew he could even feel. That was how true loneliness felt like and maybe it would be the last thing he would ever learn about himself, the last big realisation of his life.

Ziard had once asked him what he thought of mortality and right now he wasn’t sure whether he would think about it as a relief, a promise for this to end one way or another or a threat, because time was running out and there was still so much he wanted to do and achieve.

Yet waiting was all he could do now.

Waiting and steeling his heart for eternities to come.

Maybe when everything he knew would turn to dust and ash, the world would change their face, maybe then the path for him to escape would open up and he would see the sunrise again, would feel the cold ocean again and the soft summer breeze in his bright hair. He would enjoy the warm sunlight on his skin and talk for hours until the sun went to sleep and the sky was ruled by stars again.

He would be ready for this moment.

Today, tomorrow or in a hundred years.


	2. Memory

**II. Memory**

“You never lie and sometimes I wonder: Are you not able to or do you just choose not to because of your beliefs or some _moral compass_ of yours?”

Aaravos looked up from his book, slowly brushing white strands of hair out of his face. He stared at Ziard who was sitting across from him and a smile spread on his blue lips. Ziard couldn’t tell if it was a genuine smile or a mocking one. In fact, he could never tell exactly, since Aaravos answered most questions with a smile first and foremost and his smiles had many meanings. Some were vicious, some teasing, some fake, some whole hearted or charming or sad and sometimes Aaravos just smiled instead of talking. It was intimidating and fascinating at once. In this very moment though Zirad couldn’t tell what the smile meant.

“Isn’t that the very same thing?”, Aaravos replied. His tone was playful in the most innocent way, while his eyes rested on the notebook in Ziard’s hands. He wondered what he was working on and whether the question – _seemingly out of nowhere_ \- was in relation to it. “Truth is one of the major elements of our world, because nature can’t lie, neither the high heavens, nor the depths of the world. Lies were invented by the ones who came after. I think in a world full of lies, words lose their meaning.”

Ziard wrote something down, Aaravos could hear the scratching noise of his quill. “You’re still a genius at avoiding questions completely.”, Ziard didn’t face Aaravos, but he knew that there was no malice behind these words, “You’re really bad at giving direct answers my friend, you always were. Always speaking in riddles.”

“I may not believe in lies, but that doesn’t mean I’m an open book.”, the elf closed his book dramatically and laid it aside, giving Ziard an almost soft look, “Also I can answer direct questions, you mean human.” He laughed.

Ziard put his quill aside too and clapped his hands: “Alright then, let’s test it. Three quick questions just to prove my point. You need to answer the fastest you can.”

Aaravos' star-freckles lit up. He loved games. “Ok, ask away.”

“Do you have a favourite colour?”

“Hmm.. That depends entirely on my mood.”

“How about a favourite season?”

“Every season has its beauty; I could never decide.”

“How do you feel about proving my point right now in this very second?”

Aaravos laughed, louder this time: “You look beautiful when you’re annoyed.”

Ziard shook his head. “I knew you wouldn’t give me even one straight answer.” He tried to look disappointed, but his smile betrayed him instantly. “I could give you a ‘ _Yes or No_ ’-question and you would still manage to answer them with ‘ _maybe’_ and ‘ _in that constellation_ ’ or ‘ _it depends_ ’.”

The elf shrugged his shoulders with a playful expression: “Maybe you’re just asking the _wrong_ questions.”

Ziard rose from his armchair and sat down beside Aaravos on the couch. “What are the right questions then?”, he asked once he made himself comfortable, while crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Aaravos seemed to think about his words, Ziard could tell exactly by the way something in his eyes shifted. The eyes were always the most expressive part of him and Ziard knew by heart how to read them.

“ _That_ is a very good question.”, the elf exhaled, while leaning back and staring at the ceiling, “Well you could ask me what I was reading and I would reply ' _a romance novel and I hope it doesn’t have a bad ending, because I hate those stories'_. You could ask me if I am hungry and I would say ' _no I’m rarely hungry, but I’d love to eat something nonetheless'_ or you could ask me if I think this game we’re playing is stupid -” Ziard rolled his eyes, “- and I would say ' _no, of course not. Asking questions is never stupid, especially if it’s you asking and especially when you look so handsome and beautifully frustrated while doing it'_.”

Ziard punched his arm lightly. Aaravos was a charmer and Ziard was once again at his mercy.

“And I thought you were reading arcane stuff.”

Aaravos’ smile widened: “No, sometimes I want to read something for fun – besides, what’s wrong with romance novels?”

“Nothing, I guess. It’s just hard to image that you enjoy these stories.”

“I like simple stories with a happy ending, because it never goes like this in the real life.”

“Yeah you’re probably right.”, he sighed.

Ziard’s eyes wandered towards the book which Aaravos had placed on the round table in front of them a moment ago. The title was written in a language he couldn’t understand.

“It’s called ‘ _Souls on the shore_ ’. It’s about a spirit of the sky falling in love with a spirit of the sea. Neither of them can live in the other's world, so they decide to both leave their world behind and live on the land together, hoping the world would let them. They’re sacrificing everything they ever knew for a future unknown to both of them just to be with each other."

Sometimes Ziard wasn’t sure if the elf could read his mind or if he just knew him too well. He was sure though that if he would ever ask Aaravos if he in fact could read thoughts, the elf would shrug and say ‘ _I don’t need to read your thoughts to know what you’re thinking_ ’. He would probably be right about that. Yet it still wouldn’t count as a real answer.

“Don’t tell me how it’s ending. What if I want to read it as well?”, Ziard said with a mocking expression, a smile lighting up his face.

It was rare to see him like that, so light-hearted. Aaravos had always admired how the human was managing to carry so much on his shoulders, how he was fighting with all this power and was still giving everything for his people, but sometimes the haunted look in his eyes, made the elf’s heart ache. It was a reminder why the world had to change, why they were doing what they were doing, why they couldn’t stop and why it would be worth it in the end.

“ _Tss_ you can’t appreciate real art.”, Aaravos replied, while pulling the human closer, “On another note: What were you working on? A new spell?” He couldn’t hide his curiosity anymore. He was always bad at keeping his excitement hidden; In Ziard’s opinion it was one of his most endearing traits.

The sudden change of topic, ripped the smile off Ziard’s face nonetheless and instead a nervous look flickered in his eyes. “No, it’s something else.”

“Oh?”

Hesitantly Aaravos let go of his hand, giving him some space while they were still close enough that the elf could hear Ziard’s heartbeat.

“Tell me.”, he whispered, “Is it a secret?”

His words made Ziard even more nervous than he already was and it surely didn’t help that Aaravos looked almost godlike in the warm light that fell into the room through the giant windows of the tower.

It took him a moment before he finally decided to reply. “I’m writing a book about you.”

Aaravos eyes widened: “What?” Dozens of emotions were dancing in his eyes. Ziard was sure it was a mix of surprise and happiness and something else, something that was hard to decipher.

“I’m writing a book.”, he repeated, this time more confident, “I want future generations to see you the same way I do. I want to transfer my memories to all that are to come, to phrase it in your words. You did so much for me, for us, I want the future generations to remember.”

Something bright came to life in the depthts of the elf’s eyes as he finally seemed to understand what Ziard had just said. It meant so much to him, much more than he could ever put into words, because even though he claimed to be a master with words, they were failing him now. He didn’t need them, though. Aaravos was sure Ziard knew how much he appreciated the gesture, he knew how much it meant to him, he knew a lot of things without Aaravos directly telling him. Between them was a strong connection, an understanding deeper than words could ever reach.

After a while Ziard leaned forward, his dark long hair falling on his chest as he moved. “Alright.”, he said in a hushed tone, “I’m saying this only one time: You’re not allowed to read my drafts.”

Aaravos nodded. A warm smile, a real smile, full of joy and emotion stretched on his lips, while silence fell upon them. The autumn sun bathed the round room of Aaravos’ white tower in an almost ethereal light. For a moment the world outside of the tower seemed to stand still and nothing else mattered, nothing apart from two hearts beating in the same rhythm.

The moment was fleeting though, like most moment were and some things always managed to happen at the worst time possible.

Things like visions.

The whole room seemed to turn colder as suddenly Aaravos’ whole body began to tremble and his eyes turned pitch black and widened in horror. Ziard could feel how his heartbeat quickened, his breathing turned uneven and he knew immediately what was happening. It wasn’t the first time he witnessed one of Aaravos' visions. The human tried to grab his hand in a comforting gesture, but the elf was quicker, as he rose from his seat and tried to walk.

Ziard jumped up and ran towards him. “Breath with me. It’ll be alright, you'll be alright.”, he told him, but Aaravos didn’t seem to hear what he was saying. There was nothing he could do to make this easier and helplessly he stood at his side as Aaravos sank to his knees, silently screaming, while black thick liquid streamed down his face, like dark tears. “I’m here with you.”, Ziard said in a soothing tone, while the black tears dripped down the elf’s chin and fell to the floor. “I’m here.”, he repeated again and again until Aaravos stopped shaking.

The moment the shaking stopped, Aaravos eyes cleared again and he heaved and coughed, as Ziard sat down beside him and petted his hair.

“How are you feeling?”, he whispered.

Aaravos didn’t look at him, his eyes were trained on the ground as he seemed to get a grasp of what just happened.

“I’m ok.”, he replied finally. His voice sounded hoarse, “Don’t worry.”

“What did you see?”, Ziard asked, hoping it wasn’t a natural disaster or someone’s death, hoping Aaravos would tell him at all.

“A man.”

“A man?”

“A man and a mirror. I don’t know that it means, but it seemed important.”

Aaravos was unusual quiet, he always was after seeing a vision. Ziard never asked him if they caused him pain, if they were exhausting, yet if he was completely honest, he didn’t even want to know the answers to these questions. When Ziard was a child he thought visions were a blessing, that the ability to foresee the future was probably the mightiest gift in the world. Now he knew what a curse it really was and what a burden.

“Did you notice anything else?”

The elf was still breathing uneven, he was still sitting on the floor and the black liquid coloured his fingers black as he tried to wipe it off his face.

“No, just darkness.”, Aaravos turned to face Ziard, “I hadn't had a vision like that for a long time. I think this one was about _me_ , even though I’m not sure what it wanted to tell me.”

“You will have to wait.”

“Yes, I’m afraid I do.”, Aaravos expression softened, he took a deep breath, “Please make me think about something else.”

Ziard helped the elf back to his feet. “Alright, then tell me about the book you were reading.”, he led the elf to the armchair, “What was your favourite line?”

Aaravos sat down. He smiled weakly.

“I’ll die if I must, let my bones turn to dust, but I’m damned if I hesitate now. I will be by your side when sky and sea meet on the shore and will greet a new day. I’ll be with you even if it has to be in another life, another time, another place. Nothing could part us now, for our bond is strong and unyielding and unbreakable and I'm ready to pay whatever price I must pay. See you on the other side.”

The smile meant ‘ _Thank you_ ’.

*******

As Aaravos touched the cold surface of the mirror he remembered how he had felt like when the first vision of the man had pierced him like a blade. It’s almost funny that it wasn’t that different from how he had felt like when he was brought here. Both times he had sunken to his knees defeated, his voice had been hoarse from the screaming, his hands hurt and liquid had been streaming down his face. It didn’t matter that it was black one time and burning tears the other. His hands had trembled uncontrollably and for a small moment he had been sure he would just stop existing; he would stop being a part of this world. He had no choice and he wasn’t in control and he was powerless to stop it.

The prison felt cold and empty and days went by, months, even years, while he tried not to lose track of the time even though it was frustrating and infuriating.

Sometimes he thought he could hear Ziard talking to him, humming old ancient songs and it never failed to calm him down, whether it was just his imagination or not. He could still feel Ziard’s warmth, could feel his eyes on him, soft fleeting touches, but whenever he became too aware of his surroundings, he felt lost and alone again. Ziard was a ghost, an echo and it was haunting him.

He still didn’t have a favourite season, or a favourite colour, but he was sure his heart would never beat as slowly as it did when he first came to this world. His heart would always beat like a human’s heart would, like Ziard’s did and while it was a somehow comforting thought, the realization still hurt.

Eternity was a long time, too long to spend it alone grieving.

The sad truth was, that he didn’t even had any tears left to cry. There was no fire left to scream and no energy left to do anything besides existing and waiting for every new day to end. At least he was provided books in his prison, so he spent most of his time reading.

Aaravos wondered if the world had already forgotten him, if his name was crossed out of every book and poem and memory. He wondered if Ziard’s books were burned and if the ash was wandering with the wind or if they had survived, hidden somewhere where no one could ever read them again.

The thing is, Aaravos didn’t believe in death. He always thought that death and the thought of loss and separation was the greatest illusion of life. No, he believed in connection, in strings that wouldn’t break and yet he wondered if he’s been forgotten, since being forgotten is the only death an immortal being could die.

And yet he had still hope to escape this place somehow. There had to be a way.

All he needed was a fragment of possibility.

He sat down on the floor in front of the fireplace and watched the flickering flames, watched them dance and swirl around. It didn’t provide him any warmth, nothing in his prison could, but it eased his chaotic mind for a while and in that moment that was enough. He stretched out his hand and the flames bent to his will, like obedient little servants.

His mind wandered again and pictures flashed before his eyes: _The man and the mirror_.

Aaravos took a sharp breath. He clenched his hand and the flames died. Darkness filled the room like ice cold water and once again - maybe for the thousandth time - he asked himself the same questions: ‘ _Who is this man?_ ’ ‘ _Will he come and save me?_ ’

Slowly he rose from the ground and started walking forth and back like a caged animal, a horrible habit. He thought about the man, wondering what his favourite season was, or his favourite colour. Maybe he loved summer, Aaravos mused, because the world felt warm and inviting and everything smelled like adventure; or autumn because of the beautiful colours and the clear nights and the warm sun; maybe winter because everything was calm and the world was asleep or spring where everything was born anew. The man’s favourite colour was probably lilac, he imagined, hoping he could ask him one day if his assumption was right.


	3. Visions

**III. Visions**

_A small room with light grey walls._

_A flash of light._

_Shards of glass. Blood. Screams._

_A child with grey eyes._

_A tall shadow._

_Fire._

_Darkness._

With a scream Aaravos was forcefully ripped out of his sleep. The room around him was dark apart from the moonlight shining through the windows and his eyes were widened in shock. It was still in the middle of the night – at least that was what Aaravos would assume if he would have been in the right mind to do so - but all he could think of was: “What had just happened?”

Slowly he tried to sit up, while the images of his vision were still echoing through his mind like dozens of whispers and voices - too fast to really understand them - and it hurt. His heart was beating faster than a hummingbird's wings and Aaravos felt like he had run miles and miles chasing after something he wasn’t able to catch. What was this vision about?

Absentmindedly he started tracing the star patterns on his left arm with shaking fingertips, as he tried to force these pictures back into his mind. He was pushing his limits right now and he knew it, yet that wasn't enough to stop him. Even though Aaravos had a strong will, his curiosity was stronger and the elf lost against it every time.

_Broken glass. A shadow._

What was that supposed to mean?

He closed his eyes and pushed deeper. Black tears were immediately streaming down his face, the pain increased and his breathing turned erratic, but Aaravos didn't stop. The deeper Aaravos ventured into the depths of his mind and the more he tried to put these pictures into context, the faster his heart was pounding against his chest. By the time he was able to reconstruct the first part of the vision, the beating of his heart was already painful enough to make him feel nauseous. This was too much.

He pulled out of his trance to take a sharp breath and as he pressed his hand flat against his chest, he could feel his unsteady heartbeat. It felt like a wild animal trying to escape his rib cage, like a symphony of chaos. Black blood was dripping down the sides of his mouth and Aaravos' head spinned. This wasn’t going to get him anywhere.

Some time ago a human had told him that there were jigsaw puzzles with only white pieces and Aaravos was sure right now his mind looked like one of these blank puzzles: A complicated pile of shattered pieces without any clue on how to solve it. Why would anyone want something like that?

A frustrated sound left his lips.

There were exactly two tasks at hand: He needed to find out what this vision was about and he definitely needed to calm down before he collapsed. It wasn't too hard to see which one was more important at the moment.

With a grimace the elf left his bed, washed his face and started wandering through the dark rooms of his tower, desperately trying to ease his mind and his still rapidly beating heart. His movements made no sound as he stepped outside - barely dressed and barefoot - to walk through the freshly fallen snow and take a deep breath.

The world seemed to slow down as cold fresh air filled his lungs and cooled his heated skin down.

He sighed with relief.

It was a cloudless night and the cold winter moon bathed the sleeping world in a blueish mystical light, while Aaravos walked towards the cliff at the eastern side of the tower. No one else was outside and snowflakes kept falling from the dark sky, resembling a shower of small diamonds in the pale starlight. It was peaceful, peaceful and lonely. The world was quiet here and in a mixture of relief and gratitude Aaravos noticed how the stillness of the night wrapped itself around him until the only sound he could still hear was his own heartbeat - now slow and rhythmic.

As he raised his head to stare at the wide sky above him, he could feel how the fleeting images of the vision reached his mind again. They were clearer this time.

_The child was a mage. A dark mage._

Aaravos closed his eyes to concentrate more on the pictures offered to him, while the cold night air seeped into his blood. He was a mage, no doubt, but he wasn’t living in Elarion. Aaravos knew everyone in the city and he was not amongst them.

_He grew older and the shadow followed him. Always one step behind, but only an arm’s length away._

His train of thought was suddenly interrupted as he heard a shout from somewhere behind him. Immediately he snapped out of his trance-like state.

“Aaravos?”

Aaravos didn’t need to open his eyes or turn around to know that the voice belonged to Ziard.

“Did something happen?”, Ziard continued to speak, since the elf still didn’t reply, “Is everything ok?”

For a moment there was an almost unsettling silence between them until Aaravos finally turned around to meet his eyes. It was still dark, but Aaravos could perfectly see him standing at the entrance of the tower. He didn’t reply however, he merely asked: “What are you doing here, Ziard? You’re supposed to sleep. It must be about 3 in the morning.”

Ziard looked concerned. In quick steps he crossed the distance between them, grimacing as he stepped into the snow, even though he had shoes on. “I was doing some late-night research, until I saw you walking through the hallways like a ghost. Aren’t you freezing? You’re not dressed for the weather.”, he placed his hand carefully on the elf’s shoulder, “So I’m asking you again: Are you alright? Because you don’t seem like it.”

His voice was filled with worry, worry that felt colder than the breath of winter, yet his hand was warm. Aaravos leaned into the touch.

He sighed: “My mind was wandering. I needed to ground myself.”, he looked almost apologetic, only now realising that Ziard wasn’t dressed for the weather and the time of the day as well.

“A dream?”, Ziard asked. The wind swirled through his raven black hair, making it appear like smoke.

“A vision.”

“A vision? But your last one wasn’t too long ago. That’s not normal, isn’t it?”

“There’s no ‘ _normal_ ’ regarding visions… they reach me whenever they are supposed to reach me, whenever it is the right time, or place.”, Aaravos placed his hands on Ziard’s cheekbones, “It is still unusual though.”

_An invisible wall. A barrier. Hands that cannot touch, claws that cannot catch._

Ziard smiled weakly, even though the elf’s hands felt cold against his warm skin.

_Light. A crack._

He placed a soft kiss on Aaravos’ forehead.

_Shards of glass._

Aaravos blinked.

“Come on let’s get you out of this cold.”, Ziard said in a soothing tone, already spinning around, while Aaravos watched him walk towards the tower again without an intent to move.

“Give me a moment.”, he called after him as Ziard entered the building.

He could see the vision clear as day now, could see the silhouettes and shapes of it in the stars above him. A soft smile stretched on his lips as the world around him turned quiet again. He could feel the wind in his hair and the light of moon and stars on his skin, he could feel the snow beneath his feet and only now he realised how cold it was. His hands began to tremble slightly but right now it didn’t matter, not while Ziard’s warmth was still lingering on his skin and while his mind was finally clear again.

After a while he returned to the tower as well and it wasn’t too hard to find Ziard once he stepped inside the building, since Aaravos merely needed to follow the warm light and the soft crackling sound of fire. As he entered the round salon, Ziard was sitting at the giant window in the back of the room. He didn’t seem to have noticed Aaravos entering.

With feather light steps he walked towards Ziard and sat down next to him, startling him slightly with his sudden appearance.

“I’m feeling much better now.”, he said as Ziard’s eyes met his.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Aaravos didn’t answer right away, he simply leaned his head against Ziard’s shoulder and closed his eyes instead.

“It’s ok if you don’t.”, Ziard assured him with a whisper. He knew how much some visions wore him out and that some of them are better not shared at all. That's why it slightly surprised him as Aaravos began to speak.

“I saw a child with brown hair and gentle eyes. He was sitting in a garden - I think - all by himself. Someone called him and he began to run in the direction of the voice. While he ran, he grew older until he was a young adult and at the same time his shadow on the wall grew taller and darker. The shadow looked nothing like him, more like a dark creature connected to him and as the human stopped moving, the shadow grabbed his leg and pulled him to his knees. The human screamed.”, Aaravos clenched his right hand without really noticing it, “I tried to reach out to him, but I couldn’t touch him like if there was a wall between us. I pushed and pushed against the barrier, but it was to no avail.” He opened his eyes and titled his head slightly to face Ziard. “Suddenly the man rose from the ground and walked towards me. Something had changed. He placed his hand on the barrier and light emitted from it. There was the sound of something breaking, there were shards of glass and light and then… nothing, just darkness.”

Ziard touched Aaravos’ hair as he listened to him talk. He smelled like the night, he always did.

“I don’t know what it means.”, Aaravos whispered.

“Did the man look familiar?”

The elf only shook his head. “No, but he _felt_ familiar, even though I have never met him before. I’m aware of how strange that must sound to you. I don’t know… do you remember my last vision? The one in the library, a few months ago.”

“The man and the mirror?” How could Ziard forget about that one.

“Yeah, I think it is the same person. It’s the eyes. Troubled eyes, yet full of bravery and dreams and fire.”

“And the shadow?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Did you hear his name?”, Ziard asked, “The man’s I mean.”

“No, but I’m almost certain that he is a mage.”, he smiled as he added, “Just like you.”

Ziard’s hand wandered from the elf’s hair to his beautiful horns. “Maybe your paths are meant to cross in the future.”

Aaravos hummed. “Maybe. I just have to be patient.”, he closed his eyes again, “One day it'll make sense.”

Ziard looked at him with a gentle, yet tired look. “You’re always so beautiful in the starlight.”

They stayed like this for a while, until Ziard decided that he should probably use the last hours before dawn to sleep and Aaravos decided to use the darkness to meditate. He knew he wouldn’t find any more sleep tonight and he didn’t want to disturb Ziard.

“Pleasant dreams.”, he said as the human left the room with a good amount of hesitation. Hesitation, because he didn’t want to leave Aaravos alone, but he knew it was useless to try and talk him out of it. Stubborn elf. The moment he was gone though, the room felt cold immediately despite the fire and Aaravos moved closer towards the window as if that would bring him some of the warmth back he craved so much. With a longing glare he stared into the night and every single second felt like a hour, or a day, or a whole century. That was what loneliness did to him. Why on earth hadn't he followed Ziard?

And while he asked himself - not for the first time, neither for the last - why he chose to be alone, while he could have had company, the stars outside of the windows were dancing untethered on the dark sky above him, above the tower, above the troubled world. Nothing would plague them up there, Aaravos mused, they didn’t need to ground themselves, they didn’t freeze and they didn’t tremble, they didn't need company, or small touches, or smiles, or a warm bed - no, all they did was shining and sparkling and observing the plagued world underneath them. Yet the more he thought about it, the more he came to the conclusion that not even a small part of him envied them. Aaravos was sure about that the moment he shot a glance towards the door through which Ziard had vanished moments ago and his heartbeat slightly increased again.

The stars didn’t need anyone - no they were free and unbothered, but Aaravos was loved. Love was worth all the trouble of this world and as the million eyes of the night stared down at him, Aaravos wondered whether the human of his vision was loved too. He wondered how many years from this moment on it would take until he would be born. He wondered whether their fates were tied even now, even though he wasn’t a part of this world yet. He wondered about a lot of things, yet as he started to get lost in his thoughts again, Aaravos started to feel very alone and small and the world around him, the world behind the glass in front of him, the world of future days seemed too big. Too big, too much, too loud, too cold.

He stood up, trying to free himself out of this net of thoughts and sensations and crossed the room in hasty steps, extinguishing the flames with a quick hand gesture before he stepped into the hallway.

“Ziard, wait!”

*******

The only thing that kept Aaravos from completely losing his mind in this unrelenting prison were his rage, memories of his long lost love and the visons he rarely saw.

Long before his imprisonment he had great visions of cataclysmic events, but here in this mirror prison every single vision showed him the same man. A man with grey eyes, with a beautiful smile and a fire in his heart, that could easily burn the whole world to ash if it wasn’t beating in his chest instead where it would lead him forward on the path of greatness.

Aaravos couldn’t help but feel sympathy towards this man, a man he had never met and he didn’t know the name of, yet at the same time he was scared that he would never get the chance to meet him in person and really speak to him.

There was a vision were Aaravos saw him learning magic under the watchful and strict eyes of an older man that was probably his father, he saw him dreaming of new worlds and lost kingdoms, he saw him laughing with his best friend and crying at tough nights while he was looking at the dark sky wishing the stars would notice him down there. Little did he knew… One was indeed staring back at him, thinking about him and dreaming of him and just like starlight all of this probably took a couple of years to reach him. Maybe even centuries.

In some visions the man was a child, in others he was a grown man with a beard and an almost regal style of dressing, moving in an elegant manner with the confidence of a wild beast.

The thing that made Aaravos heart jump though was the staff he was carrying around in one particular vision: Ziard’s staff. He stared at it in wonder while it also felt like a dagger in his heart to see how someone else touched the staff, someone that wasn’t Ziard. It felt like a horrible reminder that Ziard was dead and gone and that Aaravos would probably never accept that horrible truth. Neither in a hundred years nor in a thousand.

Something in his chest felt tense and heavy ever since he had seen that vision. He had millions of questions, yet no answer to even one of them. It was like torture, until suddenly something changed for the first time since his imprisonment. _Change_. He had almost forgotten how change felt like, how it felt like to meet unexpected circumstances, since every day in this damned prison felt exactly like the last one. Yet here he was and he cheered as someone - he couldn't see his face - broke into the dragon king’s lair, killed the beast, defeated his guards, stole the egg and – and this is the important part - stole the mirror.

It was the first glimpse of hope he had felt since years, but there was a price: Ever since that moment the visions came to an abrupt stop. It was almost ridiculous how much Aaravos started to miss them, started to miss a man he had never spoken to, but he couldn’t help it. The days felt longer now and colder, but right before Aaravos’ grief started to consume him for good, a human appeared on the other side of the mirror.

A _familiar_ face.

It felt like someone had shot an arrow straight through the elf’s heart as he stared at the man on the other side in disbelief. Yet there was no doubt: He was the man the visions had shown him and the moment Aaravos fully perceived that fact he felt giddy like a little child. He felt like he already knew him for years, even though he didn’t know his name, his family, his origin or what his voice sounded like, what he liked to eat and whether he loved the sunrise just like he himself did.

_The man and the mirror._

Aaravos finally understood the vision he saw many years ago as he pressed his hand against the cold glass, wishing the man could see him as well, wishing his hand would reach him through the barrier that separated them. Be patient now, he thought, you’ve waited for so long, you can wait a bit longer.

And he waited. It was interesting how he didn’t feel lonely anymore even though he technically still was, as he observed the man through the glass. He tried to understand the mirror, tried to reveal its secrets and Aaravos was sure he would eventually be able to use it. It was meant to be. Also, he seemed to be a really smart man, he seemed to be curious, passionate and a mess, but Aaravos wasn’t one to judge. He was more than a mess himself - he was a broken mirror, a pile of beautifully shaped broken parts, glistening in the soft light of the stars and sparkling in hundreds of colours.

It took the human some time to be able to see through the mirror, but eventually he managed it.

It took him some more time to trust the elf enough to follow his instructions, but eventually he did and Aaravos couldn’t stop smiling.

And finally as the bound between them was forged, Aaravos felt like pure fire was running through his veins instead of blood and he wondered whether the human could feel it too. Could he feel how finally after years of numbness Aaravos' senses returned to him? Could he feel how warmth flooded his body that was cold for way too long? Aaravos almost hoped that he did. Also he was sure that if he had less control over his feelings, he would cry by now - tears of joy. He had yearned feeling like this for years, yet there was nothing that could compare to what came next: The wondrous moment the human spoke for the very first time.

_Viren._

His name was Viren.

He had such a beautiful voice.


End file.
